


Fool's Gold

by NekoAisu



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Established Relationship, Fluff and Angst, Hair Braiding, Hair-pulling, M/M, Marking, Minor Original Character(s), Shovel Talk, glaive prince noctis au, sorta - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-02
Updated: 2019-01-02
Packaged: 2019-10-03 03:55:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,384
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17276615
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NekoAisu/pseuds/NekoAisu
Summary: Noctis Lucis Caelum refuses to become king of a country he doesn’t know how to protect. He joins the Kingsglaive to learn about the people he's sworn to rule for and gets more than he bargained for.





	Fool's Gold

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Wrathofscribbles](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wrathofscribbles/gifts).



> ME? FINISHING A FIC? W I L D
> 
> the sexual content in this is super-lite(tm) level stuff so there's no onscreen dickings. my apologies
> 
>  
> 
> ALSO THIS IS FOR A LOVELY FRIEND OF MINE!!!! WRATH I HOPE YOU LIKE THIS!!!!!!!!

With blood smeared diagonally from jaw to forehead, Noctis looks like some sort of avenging angel. He’s absolutely vicious on the field, faster than veteran ‘Glaives and nearly as effective, and Nyx is willing to bet that the blood isn’t his own.

 

He looks like he fought Death and triumphed. Nyx has never been more in love.

 

There’s a star-bright burning in his eyes when he pulls magic from nowhere, directing spectral weapons like a conductor would an orchestra, and Noctis nearly _glows_ with it. There was nothing more powerful than when he countered the Empire’s new Diamond Weapon with an Astral in the flesh until he learned he was impervious to the damage meted out by his Summons. Then, it was a King in everything but title backing them with fury and fire.

 

He earns every one of his braids. They sit tight along his ear, beads shining brightly the way their weapons do, and Nyx is proud that he can say with confidence that Noctis wears them with respect. They’re beautiful on him, especially when lit blue-white with the diaphanous sparks of a warp. It’s almost a shame when he has to take them out to wash his hair, but that’s when Nyx can bury his hands in it easiest and _pull._ It’s when Noctis arches under him, wanting and pliant and panting, hanging onto his every word instead of giving orders.

 

Crowe had joked, once, that Noctis could just pull rank if he wanted to (not that any of them would actually _obey_ , but the point had been made). Noctis just ordered them a round of drinks and shrugged, toasting to good company. They all know he’ll be better to the military than Mors was.

 

It’s almost comical when Nyx comes in for debriefing after one particularly heavy mission and is met with a rather flustered Noctis and his father, _the King of fucking Lucis,_ like he hasn’t shown up to give a mission report and is instead about to get the shovel talk.

 

He sort-of gets one.

 

In all honesty, Regis is intimidating because he’s a pure-blooded Lucian. He has gods-given magic and different customs that make Nyx worry he’s made a social faux pas at every turn. If he ignores those two things, he’s still a little terrified, but it’s mostly because it’s one thing to meet the parents of a normal, not at all royal person, but he has _Noct_ and just that fact alone has him agreeing to dinner at least once a week when he’s not assigned to a post outside Insomnia.

 

Noctis doesn’t seem to mind that his uniform only covers things lower down on his neck. He admits he likes the marks, fingers ghosting over them and pressing into bruises with a pleased hiss. “It’s because it’s that _you_ give me.” Nyx makes sure to leave more. Regis just raises a brow when Noctis shows up for dinner late and with a bloom of purpling skin peeking from the collar of his shirt, lighter bites scattered farther upward and unmistakable when he wears one of Nyx’s old t-shirts unabashedly like they aren’t supposed to be more than junky-casual.

 

Nyx likes how open Noctis is about their relationship. He had asked once if they would have to hide it and Noctis had laughed near joyously. “I appreciate the thought, Hero, but we’re not exactly subtle as it is.”

 

They try for subtle when there are dignitaries about, but that only lasts as long as Nyx’s patience for seeing Noctis in suits he’s pretty sure would look _so_ much better on the floor.

 

(It’s unfair how handsome a figure Noctis cuts when in his raiment. Luxury suits him better than the piss-poor state of Nyx’s apartment, but Noctis always comes back to him like Nyx is _home_ and it’s such a wondrous thing to know that he’s made that for the man he loves.)

 

He’s around ninety-nine percent sure that the only reason the meeting between the Accordan ambassadors and those of House Lucis Caelum finished within the day and didn’t drag out to a full week is because Regis and Noctis _both_ were more than tired of Lady Adrestia trying to force her daughter onto the prince. Noctis, ever the infuriatingly elegant man he is, just refuses her offer with a smile and offer to introduce the Lady and her daughter to a rather charming, young bachelor Noctis knows is looking for a match.

 

Nyx bites carefully at Noctis’s shoulders in the time between meetings, sucking marks from collarbones to jaw in lurid red. He listens to how Noctis’s breath catches at the stinging pain, how he gasps and groans between curses that would damn them both more than the Accursed King’s Shield had been to Taelpar Crag. Nyx catches his lips to the point they bruise, grips carefully at his hips and the scars that cut uneven divots through his skin in his rapture.

 

The picture of his prince (his _King,_ truly) lounging on his collection of expensive pillows, smiling so softly at him with tear tracks dried along his cheeks is something Nyx never wants to show anyone else. Noctis is beautiful in all ways, trustworthy and loyal to all his people while leaving his heart in the care of his love above all others, and Nyx dotes on him in his own ways. It’s a juice box and warm washcloth when they’re done going wild. It’s his fingers twisting braids into being carefully, gently, lovingly. It’s in his private smiles and how carefully he holds Noctis’s heart in his hands, careful to not catch it on calluses.

 

Noctis is much the same in his love, if not frustratingly smooth in kind. He’s sudden storms of kisses, the wash of sultry summer air in how he moves above Nyx, and he’s _home._ Nothing can replace Galahd─can replace Nyx’s _family─_ and Noctis know it, makes no move to do so. He bolsters that part of Nyx’s heart and soothes its pains best he can, listening to Nyx recounting Selena’s antics same as his warrior mother’s astounding hunts, counting them as family he’s meeting through story instead of memories alone.

 

Regis laughs loudly when Nyx asks for his blessing over dinner, asking, “Well, son, would if stop you if I said no?”

 

Nyx smiles, the motion lopsided and roguish, before replying, “Not a chance, Your Majesty.”

 

Three days later sees them both with a new braid, Noctis’s threaded with purple ribbon and silver loops while Nyx’s shines like midnight oil in black and gold. Crowe toasts to them.

 

A year later sees that the rest of the world does not.

 

Insomnia falls, Nyx with it, and Noctis is left with the memory of hands in his hair and a charmingly rough voice in his ear whispering adoringly, _“I love you, Noct. You’ll make a good king.”_

 

Putting the Ring on feels like coming home. Noctis wishes it didn’t. He’s sure he’s an imposter wearing a prince’s clothes.

 

He can’t be king. It’s not in him to be.

 

But then there’s the Accursed and everything comes to a close after ten years of numbness and suffering, the need to die being pounded into his head at every turn by the gods themselves. He sees his father raise his sword, visions of Nyx strung up from the Citadel ceiling vivid in his mind even while it swims in pain, and knows he needs to end this.

 

He dies for Eos as foretold, a martyr on a throne he’d only just recovered at the cost of thousands of lives.

 

Then, impossibly, he sees Nyx.

 

“Hey, Hero,” he greets with a laugh. “I heard you’ve stolen my nickname.”

 

Noctis runs to him, twenty years old and terrified because it’s _over,_ and Nyx holds him through it, hands brushing along the places where Bahamut stole his braids with fury and reverence in equal measure. “I missed you,” is all he manages as a reply, but it’s enough.

 

“I missed you too, Noct,” Nyx whispers into his neck, holding him close, and Noctis knows that Nyx kept hold of his heart all these years like it’s the most precious thing of all.

 

And maybe it is, false gilding and all, because it’s _Noctis’s_ and that’s all that matters to him.

**Author's Note:**

> HMU ON:  
> tunglr | kiriami-sama  
> twitter | FlamingAceKiri  
> discord | NekoAisu#7099


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